


a life told through objects

by clarameansbright



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: Multi, Olivia is bi, i'm just a sad little lesbian okay, it's a two-parter folks, just hold on for some angst, let me know if there are things wrong please, not all of them worked, okay so basically i wanted to read this and it didn't exist so ta-da, there are many things i wanted to do with this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 13:31:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17746778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarameansbright/pseuds/clarameansbright
Summary: Olivia Caliban is a librarian who is armed with curiosity, a well-defined moral compass, and a curated collection of books. Who she was before that is a story told in books and bikes and gramophones- a life told through objects.





	a life told through objects

**Author's Note:**

> BIG BIG BIG MEGA THANKS to my amazing beta and one of my best friends, thebriars! you're amazing and i definitely would have collapsed into a sobbing gay pile without you, so thank you so much for being you. love ya always :)

**1: a bird mobile**

Olivia Caliban is a five-month-old baby who isn’t particularly good at sleeping through the night.

She was found in a burning car, her parents long dead in the front seats.

The car burned for longer than it should have, almost as if someone on the opposing side of a schism had tampered with the wires of the vehicle before the Calibans had gone out driving that day.

That fire was not put out in time.

But Olivia was rescued, and placed in the Optimistic Orphanage, which is optimistic in name only.

Tonight, she is awake, a tiny orphan in a rickety crib, slats of moonlight falling through the arched windows.

The mobile that hangs above every crib in the room spins slowly over hers, cutesy bluebirds turning in a predetermined orbit.

When she’s older, she’ll think about how strangely similar the mobile looks to vultures circling their prey.

But right now, she simply stares up at it, following the path of each bluebird.

One of the workers at the orphanage walks through on her nightly rounds. She passes Olivia’s crib and picks her up, letting her lean into her shoulder. This has become routine in the three nights the unlucky baby has been here.

The woman’s name is Miss Marigold, and she likes children. 

Many others here do not.

“Hello, little one,” she whispers, bouncing her lightly around the room. “You really don’t like sleeping very much, do you?”

Olivia babbles something in response.

“Ah, of course. A rational explanation,” Miss Marigold laughs, and takes her by the window.

The view is of an aggressively yellow streetlight and discolored brick buildings, but Olivia puts her small hand up to the cold glass.

“I know it doesn’t look like much. But there’s a whole world out there, and I think you’ve got what it takes to get out of here, Olivia,” Miss Marigold tells her quietly.

“Ba,” Olivia says sincerely, and Miss Marigold smiles, but the smile shifts into a rough, pained cough.

“We should put you back to bed, dear,” she replies, wiping her mouth, “or else you’ll be up all night and fussy tomorrow. I know your tricks, sweet girl.”

“Ba!” Olivia exclaims again, and whether it’s out of protest or agreement, Miss Marigold can’t say.

But she lifts the baby back into her crib and bats the mobile to make it spin.

“My bonnie lies over the ocean,” she sings softly. “my bonnie lies over the sea, my bonnie lies over the ocean…”

Olivia’s sound asleep, breathing quietly.

“So bring back my bonnie to me,” Miss Marigold says, tracing the baby’s cheek. “Good night, my love. Sweet dreams.”

The next night, there’s a wind blowing through the airy hall, and the mobile spins in the opposite direction.

Miss Marigold is sick, so another woman with a sour face and bony fingers named Miss Isabella walks among the cribs like an intruder on a distant planet.

Olivia’s up again, predictably, and when she sees someone approaching her crib she coos happily. 

But Miss Isabella notices the baby is awake and pinches her hard.

Now, some might say that babies can’t feel an emotion as complex as betrayal, but Olivia Caliban, five months old and already an orphan, is either feeling betrayal or something very close to it.

Instead of crying, she lays there and watches the mobile, an angry purple bruise forming on her skin.

The bluebirds rotate in eerie circles.

**2: black-framed glasses**

Olivia Caliban is a four-year-old with good posture and a perpetual squint. She has been at the Optimistic Orphanage for 1,308 days, and there is no sign of her leaving anytime soon. Other kids get to leave, with new parents and brothers and sisters and dogs, off to live their own picture-perfect lives.

She’s always the first one up. It’s still dark out on this particular morning, and the streetlight practically blinds her when she opens the curtains.

A chorus of groans arises from the beds around her.

“Too bright! Shut it, you idiot!”

Olivia winces at the harsh words that come from every side.

“That’s mean,” she whispers, and only the boy in the bed next to her hears her words.

“We don’t care if it is, you whiny little prick. Get your shit together. Nobody cares.”

Olivia wants to curl up in a ball and cry, because she is four and she is a child and no one loves her.

She knows that Miss Marigold loved her, but Miss Marigold is dead. It happened a month ago. Tuberculosis, the doctors said. Acute and destructive. A miracle it didn’t spread to the children.

Olivia misses her. A lot. She wants some form of comfort that Miss Marigold is okay. But the children at Optimistic Orphanage are not told fairytales about the afterlife.

If you are dead, you are dead. That is the way it works, and most of the children accept that.

But Olivia is different.

She is constantly creating worlds in her head and writing them down in her sloppy child scrawl. She makes wishes on stars. Her hands move when she talks. She gives her dinner to the same kids who torture her during the day, comforts babies at night even though she’s practically a baby herself, and she _reads_. She reads more than anyone else in the orphanage, even the adults. 

She believes.

And one of the imaginings in her head is that Miss Marigold is out there somewhere, traveling the world on a ship, or a biplane, or another fantastical vehicle that she’s only heard of in books.

As Miss Marigold died, she grabbed Olivia’s hand, her breaths rattling and rasping out of her throat. “Be brave,” she whispered.

And Olivia is trying as best as she can, but the only person who loved her in the whole world is dead.

Lost in thought, she’s brought out of her mind by the clanging of the bell, and she’s almost bowled over as everyone runs down the stairs.

Today, the doctor is coming to the orphanage to perform short checkups on the children, and Olivia is attempting to muster her courage because she hates checkups. Doctors scare her.

The stairs are too steep for her, so she takes the banister down with glee, the world blurring by in a whirl of lights and wind and colors and for a few seconds, her young brain isn’t concerned with death or loneliness, but just how fast she can go on the wooden railing.

She leaps off before she hits the newel post at the bottom, and finds her place in the line of orphans.

“Hi!” she chirps to the girl next to her, because although she is lonely she is not above trying.

“Get away from me,” the girl says pointedly, and Olivia shrinks back, another blow delivered to the hope in her heart.

The doctor starts with the babies, probing their tongues and checking the shape of their heads. Thankfully, most of them are healthy, but Michael and Peggy both have a fever, so he writes something down on his notepad and rips it off for Miss Colette, the head of the orphanage.

Joey, Lily, and Felicity, all two-year-olds, have colds, Katie, who is three and a half, has a weird rash, and there are several other small diseases and infections that the doctor mentions that Olivia wants to look up later, even if she doesn’t know how to spell any of them.

Then he gets to her. He points at the chart across the room that he’s had all the other kids look at.

Olivia doesn’t get what all the hoopla is about (a word she learned yesterday from one of her books). It’s just smeared black smudges on a big white blob.

She tells him this in her small voice, and the doctor writes something down and hands it to Miss Colette again.

He goes down the rest of the line, but Olivia is no longer paying attention. Is she sick? Is she going to die? She doesn’t want to die.

Later that week, Miss Madeline, who is nicer than Miss Isabella but meaner than Miss Marigold was, takes her into the optometrist’s office in the town square.

There, the auburn-haired little girl is given a pair of dark glasses.

She slips them on her nose and opens her eyes, and it’s like everything is new.

Her mouth falls open.

“Miss Madeline, looklooklook! I can see!” she says, spellbound, spinning around under the sky when they get outside.

Everything is clear and bright and beautiful, light refracting off buildings and spinning through the air.

Olivia is laughing and giggling and practically delirious with the euphoria of sight, and she has not been so happy since the death of Miss Marigold.

But she is four, and the grief of a child is a mysterious, fluid thing, shifting between opposite poles of happiness and misery.

This is the last time she will be truly happy for a long while.

But right now, she is reading signs across the street, looking at the clouds against the blue, and running down the sidewalk, with a giant smile on her face.

**3: a valentine’s day card**

Olivia Caliban is ten years old with too-small shoes and bitten fingernails, and she sits across the schoolroom from Spencer Prendley, every so often glancing over at him and blushing heavily.

Spencer has what someone more old-fashioned would call ‘rakish’ good looks, with light brown curls, green eyes, and a crookedly dimpled smile.

He moved into Olivia’s class in the second grade, and she’s been enamored with him since that November, when he saw her reading _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_ and said, “Oh, that’s a great book! I’ve read it a bunch of times. Who’s your favorite?”

No one asks Olivia about her books. Ever, really. The only time anyone even mentions them is when they’re telling her to put them away or making fun of her.

So when Spencer had talked to her, she just sat there, mouth hanging open, glasses slipping off her nose.

They’ve exchanged pleasantries since then, but nothing more, and Olivia’s young heart wants so badly to be in love. Some of the girls around her scoff at romance novels, but she loves them, loves the easy plots and reconciliations. Her favorite features a chauffeur who falls in love with a woman he drives around. They escape into the sunset, leaving behind all of their enemies. That’s what it says, on the last page- ‘all of their enemies have been defeated.’

Sitting in class, watching Miss Colette write sums on the chalkboard, Olivia watches Spencer chew on his pencil. Olivia’s shoes don’t touch the ground, toes inside them curled up as tight as her heart in anxiety. 

She wants so badly for him to love her.

Her head immediately fills with daydreams, her vivid imagination playing scenarios in her mind like miniature movies.

She sits beside him, a book in both of their laps, pointing out words on the page.

They fly a plane to places Olivia’s only seen in books- Paris, Salzburg, Vienna.

He makes an apple tart for her in the kitchen of their very own house. Apple tart is Olivia’s favorite, but the real fantasy is owning something that is _hers. _Even her books aren’t really hers, liable to be snatched away at any moment by Miss Isabella in a moment of vengefulness.__

__She’s gotten worse lately. Olivia isn’t certain why._ _

__Miss Colette slaps Olivia’s knuckles (hard) with her ruler._ _

__“ _Olivia Caliban!_ Listen, please!”_ _

__Olivia gasps in pain, squeezing her now-bruised hands into fists. “Yes, Miss Colette,” she whispers, daydreams quelled and wondering shut down._ _

__She bends her head down over her paper. The sums are easy. She writes out and finishes solving her sums before Miss Colette is even back up to the board._ _

__“Now, children, you know that tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, a day to show your love to another boy or girl. Maybe even one in this very room,” she says suggestively, raising her eyebrows, the rage-filled, ruler-brandishing face gone, replaced by a sweet old lady. This is the danger of Miss Colette, Olivia is learning. At least what you see is what you get with Miss Isabella._ _

__That night, on her cot, Olivia cuts pink paper and glues lace and writes in her best handwriting on a card for Spencer._ _

__She grins when she goes to sleep, barely able to contain her excitement. Maybe they’ll kiss. She’s seen other kids kiss before, out in the yard when they’re dared to._ _

__It never looks nice, but whenever she asks they exchange knowing looks and say it’s absolutely wonderful._ _

__So then it must be._ _

__She lies in bed, watching the stars through a crack in the curtains, making wishes and thinking about kissing Spencer Prendley._ _

__Every time she thinks about him, tingling currents go racing through her. She pictures a string of electrons shivering along her heart as she falls asleep._ _

__The next morning, after the usual chorus of grumbling and insults after she opens the windows, Olivia’s the first one downstairs for breakfast, practically bouncing in her seat._ _

__She eats the “oatmeal” (that’s how she thinks of it in her head, in air quotes, because it is most definitely not oatmeal) quickly, but they have to wait for morning announcements._ _

__Olivia sees Spencer across the dining hall, rubbing his eyes in his uniform as he sits with all of his friends, and smiles wide._ _

__He doesn’t see her, and Olivia’s smile falters. _But that’s fine,_ she thinks. _That’s totally okay. I’ll just give him his valentine and he’ll want to kiss me.__ _

__This was rather faulty reasoning, she realized later, but at the time it seemed logically sound._ _

__Class started, everyone buzzing and talking and moving around, discussing what valentines would be distributed where and who would get which ones._ _

__“Class, class, I need you to settle down. You need to be sitting before we can exchange cards,” Miss Colette explains tiredly, without her normal cup of coffee._ _

__The students comply, if only barely, and then it’s a madhouse when they’re allowed to get up from their desks. Construction paper hearts are tossed around the room, lollipops bouncing off of chairs, chocolate candies forcibly wedged into envelopes by clumsy hands._ _

__Olivia slips Spencer’s into his envelope on the edge of his desk and goes back to her seat, biting her lip eagerly when he sits back down and rifles through his many tiny packages._ _

__Olivia is clearly not his only admirer._ _

__But when he gets her carefully decorated heart, he looks at her and smiles, and she beams back, so happy that it’s finally happening._ _

__When he opens it, his face is that of a typical boy in love, sappy and excited, but when his eyes reach the signature, he just looks confused. And more than a little disgusted._ _

__He looks over at Olivia, _really_ looks at her, and Olivia realizes that there is a very pretty girl named Emily who sits behind her._ _

__She turns around, and Emily is holding a teddy bear from Spencer._ _

__Her face turns red, for a reason entirely different than this morning._ _

__Heartbreak hurts._ _

__No matter how old you are, when love leaves it hurts. Whether by force or by chance, losing love is one of the most painful things you can go through._ _

__Olivia doesn’t want to cry._ _

__She sits there, and she stares straight ahead, eyes owl-like in her glasses, focusing on the board and the giant chalk heart that Miss Colette has drawn._ _

__A single tear falls down her cheek, and that’s all she allows._ _

__She resolves never to indulge in the messy business of love again._ _

__Never again._ _

__

__

__**4: a red bicycle** _ _

__Olivia Caliban is a freckled and skinny fourteen-year-old with a screwdriver in her hand and oil on her fingers, reading from a manual._ _

__She is going to run away from the Optimistic Orphanage._ _

__The bike was by no means the inspiration for her escape, she’s been thinking about it for a while, but it was a crucial catalyst._ _

__It was leaning against the brick wall of an apartment complex, rusty frame hidden in shadow._ _

__Olivia had never had a bike, but she’d seen them before, speeding past on the street and weaving down the sidewalk._ _

__She wheeled the wobbly red bicycle back to the orphanage, the bag she’d gotten from the market hanging heavy on her arm._ _

__Once she got back, she went out to the shed, where there were tools._ _

__Before he had left, the old janitor had shown her a few things, like how to properly use a wrench and how much oil to use on certain gears and how to fix an engine._ _

__So Olivia knelt in front of the warped bike and ran a hand over it, brushing aside the flakes of paint and rust that came away with her fingers. She looked over its bent spokes and snapped chain, trying to figure out how they worked._ _

__And that’s how she got here, sitting in front of a red bike, trying to make the pedals spin._ _

__She cuts her hand on the jagged edges of a gear and hisses out a breath through her teeth, wiping the blood off on her uniform._ _

__Olivia doesn’t give up, though. She oils the gear, threads the chain she repaired through its loop, and greases the pedals so they turn._ _

__The spokes are still mostly missing or broken, but that’s something she can easily fix. There’s chicken wire spooled up somewhere in the yard, she knows, and there’s pliers too._ _

__She doesn’t know where to find these things in the yard, but she’ll cross that bridge when she comes to it._ _

__Just then, as she sits back on her heels and adjusts her glasses, the shed door bangs open._ _

__Olivia flinches, preparing herself for Miss Isabella and the ruler. Her already bruised knuckles sting at the thought, but then it’s just a blond girl standing in the dusty doorway._ _

__“So you’re fixing a bike, huh?” she asks. Her eyes are very, very blue._ _

__“Oh. Uh, yeah,” Olivia answers cautiously, wary of the girl. Miss Isabella has a few children that watch for suspicious activity among the others. This taught Olivia from an early age not to trust anyone, least of all the other children._ _

__The girl must see the skepticism in her eyes, because she laughs, a bright, happy sound that makes Olivia want to laugh too._ _

__“I’m not one of Isabella’s spies, if that’s what you’re worried about.”_ _

__“I, uh…” Olivia stutters, unbalanced by the girl’s accurate perception of what she was thinking._ _

__“Would it help if I introduced myself?” she says, grinning and sticking out a hand to shake. “I’m Catherine.”_ _

__Olivia nods. “Olivia,” she replies cordially, pushing her glasses up on her nose as she shakes Catherine’s hand._ _

__“So, what are you planning to do with this bike of yours, Olivia?”_ _

__“Travel around. See things.” She’s purposefully vague. This girl might not be a spy, but Olivia’s not about to trust this girl with her plan._ _

__“Ah. Things. Truly the most interesting.” Catherine pauses, watching the yellow light fall through the shed’s dusty windows. “Where would you go if you could go anywhere?”_ _

__Olivia looks up from reattaching the bike seat, brown eyes gold in the sun. “Am I still traveling with a bike?” she quips._ _

__Catherine rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “No. I mean anywhere anywhere.”_ _

__“Daisy Bay,” Olivia says, almost on instinct._ _

__“Daisy… what?” Catherine questions, confused._ _

__“Can you hand me that wrench?” Olivia asks before responding, and when the tool is in her hand she continues. “Daisy Bay. I read about it in a book when I was really young, like five or something. It’s this beautiful inlet town, with storefronts and palm trees and surfing and all sorts of stuff.”_ _

__“That sounds lovely,” Catherine says, sitting down next to her, and the smile she gives Olivia looks genuine, lighting up her blue-blue eyes._ _

__“How about you? You need to tell me where you would go.”_ _

__“Oh, I don’t know. Evergreen Street, I guess,” Catherine says as she shrugs, the blue in her eyes dimming. She hands Olivia a smaller screwdriver._ _

__“That’s really specific. Any particular reason?” Olivia’s curious. She breaks her gaze from the spokes of the wheel to see Catherine staring at the ground._ _

__“My parents and I lived there for three years. Before, y’know, orphanhood.”_ _

__“When did they die?” Olivia asks sympathetically, putting down her tools and moving closer even as a twinge of jealousy flares in her heart. She doesn’t have any memories of her parents._ _

__“They didn’t. Die, I mean. They just… didn’t want me anymore. Never really had, I guess. One day, we were driving with my new baby sister, and they just left me here, in front of the building. Miss Marigold found me.”_ _

__Olivia’s horrified, but she can’t quite find the words to speak._ _

__“So I’d go back there. See what it was like, with a house and a yard and a neighborhood.”_ _

__“That’s awful, Catherine,” Olivia whispers. “I’m so sorry.”_ _

__“It’s all right.”_ _

__“No, it’s not. You deserved so much better than that,” Olivia tells her. “You still do. Maybe you’ll get adopted.”_ _

__“Everyone adopts the babies, Olivia. No one even looks at kids like us unless they need workers.”_ _

__There’s years of bitterness in her voice, of loneliness and apathy and fear all shoved into this girl before she could even fully talk._ _

__“I’m sorry,” Olivia says again, at a loss for anything else._ _

__“There’s nothing that can be done about it, anyhow,” Catherine mutters, and she stands up. “At least I had parents. You have nothing.”_ _

__She leaves the shed then, the door swinging open and shut behind her._ _

__Olivia looks back down at her bike, something large and miserable burning behind her ribs._ _

__She has been forced to grow up far too fast, true, but she is still twelve. She wants a friend so badly, and she thought she might have had one but she just ruined it. Again._ _

__She always does, doesn’t she?_ _

__Without really knowing it, tears are in her eyes, and she’s swiping at them, but it’s not really doing much._ _

__She throws her rag down on the ground angrily, but the vitriol dissipates as soon as it appears, and she’s left sitting there, in front of a half-broken, half-fixed bike._ _

__But the door opens again, softly, and someone hands Olivia the pliers she knocked over earlier._ _

__Olivia knows it’s Catherine, but she doesn’t look up. She can’t quite bring herself to forgive her yet._ _

__“I’m sorry,” Catherine says softly, like it hurts her to say the words, and maybe it does. “I didn’t mean to… I never wanted to...”_ _

__“Storm out and slam the door?” Olivia asks, and even she’s surprised at the contempt in her voice. “Just because your parents left you here?”_ _

__Catherine winces, and Olivia wishes she could take it back._ _

__“I just… I wanted to apologize. Formally. I don’t know if it can be truly formal if it happens five minutes after the actual infraction, but I’m trying.”_ _

__“What’s an infraction?” Olivia asks, distracted from the apology, always eager to learn a word she doesn’t know._ _

__“Like… an offense. Something you did wrong. Usually it implies a breaking of the law, but I’m stretching it slightly.”_ _

__“Oh. Carry on, then,” Olivia says._ _

__“That… was kind of all I had prepared,” Catherine responds slowly, looking unsure of herself._ _

__Olivia smiles, her eyes dancing with barely contained laughter. “I’m kidding, Catherine. Apology accepted.”_ _

__“You jerk,” Catherine snorts, playfully pushing Olivia’s shoulder, feeling comfortable enough again to tease her. “So, can we be… friends, then?” she questions._ _

__Olivia can’t contain her grin. “Yes. Yes, absolutely we can be friends.”_ _

__The next few months are what Olivia will later say is one of the best parts of her childhood she can remember._ _

__She and Catherine make lemonade and drink it all before they can sell it, race a broken wagon down the zigzaggy streets of town, watch old movies while singing loudly, follow railroad tracks and shout at the sky. They call each other Livvy and Cat, and they are completely, completely happy._ _

__The Optimistic Orphanage is not so ironically depressing anymore, but that doesn’t mean Olvia doesn’t want to continue with the plan she’s had for ages._ _

__One summer night when the air is sticky and the moon is sweating pale light into the hall full of beds, Olivia shakes Catherine awake._ _

__“Olivia? What on earth are you-”_ _

__Olivia holds a finger to her lips and motions for Catherine to follow her._ _

__The two girls pad through the rows of beds and down the stairwell, outside into the sweltering heat, and into the dark shed. A chain is pulled, and a bare yellow bulb blinks on, illuminating their faces._ _

__A red bike sits between them, fitted with a new chain, patched tires, semi-usable handbrakes, and oiled pedals._ _

__“And this is….” Catherine says, inspecting the workmanship. It’s practically perfect, given the bare minimum of tools that Olivia must have had to use._ _

__“This is our way out of here,” Olivia whispers, clearly containing excitement._ _

__“Um, Livvy, there’s only one seat.”_ _

__“It’s retrofitted to hold our weight. It won’t be the most luxurious thing in the world, but it’ll work. And I think that’s all we can ask for in our situation.”_ _

__“When do we leave?” Catherine asks, walking around the bike and looking at it from different angles._ _

__“Tomorrow night, after they all go to bed. We’re biking to Fairfield, it’ll take about two days.” For the first time since they’ve walked in here, Olivia makes eye contact with Catherine, but her face doesn’t mirror the wild happiness that Olivia’s feeling. She looks more than a little fearful, she looks unsure and scared._ _

__Uncertainty slips through Olivia, wriggly and panicked like a snake in her stomach. Has she made a mistake? “Are… are you in? Do you want to do this?” she asks, doubt heavy in her mind._ _

__Catherine nods, slowly._ _

__“I’m in,” she says, and flashes Olivia a bright smile, one that sends the same electric currents through her as Spencer did._ _

__But she dismisses it as exhaustion, or maybe excitement. They’re going to finally leave this awful, awful place._ _

__The next day is one of waiting, one where the hands on the clock move slower than they should, one where Catherine and Olivia sneak books into bags and food into pockets._ _

__That night, Olivia is staring up at the ceiling, consumed by elation and fear, but both emotions are discolored by sadness. If she leaves now, she leaves behind the memory of Miss Marigold and almost everyone else who has had an impact on her life. She’ll be starting all over again, and while that’s why there’s such joy spiraling through her head, it’s also terrifying._ _

__She hears the flowy skirts and heavy footfalls of Miss Isabella leave the corner, heading to the boys’ dormitory, and she catapults out of bed, hearing Catherine do the same._ _

__They grab the bags from under their beds and run down to the shed, laughing and crowing with joy, slick shoes against cold, wet grass, black in the night._ _

__They wheel the bike out of the shed, and Olivia hops on the seat in her pajamas and sneakers, flicking on the headlight as she does so._ _

__Then Catherine sits behind her. Olivia can smell the sweetly aromatic shampoo she uses, and she shakes off the rising blush in her cheeks._ _

__It’s almost laughable, how easy it is to leave the orphanage. The blue-black horizon stretches out in front of them as Olivia pedals onto the road, wobbling slightly but finding her balance._ _

__For a while, they just coast down the road in silence, watching the dark trees that look like overarching hands above the street._ _

__They make it through the main town without incident, and then when they’re a few miles into the countryside, Olivia brakes and leads the bike to the edge of a cornfield._ _

__“I think we’re far enough away,” she says, a little out of breath from the exertion of pedaling a bicycle with two people on it. “It wouldn’t be hard for them to catch up to us, but I don’t think they’re willing to try.”_ _

__Catherine yawns widely and rubs her eye with the palm of her hand. “Sounds good. Where are we setting up camp?”_ _

__“Here, I was thinking,” Olivia laughs, getting out an apple for each of them. “I know it’s not a lot of food, but we should ration it.”_ _

__Catherine takes the apple and flops down on her back, looking up at the stars, pinholes in a piece of intergalactic blue paper._ _

__“We did it, Cat,” Olivia says, and she almost subconsciously reaches for Catherine’s hand in the dark._ _

__Catherine takes it, and the currents are back._ _

__“We did it,” Catherine echoes._ _

__A few minutes pass, punctuated by the rustling of the corn to their left and the wind blowing over the empty road to their right._ _

__“Make a wish,” Catherine says softly._ _

__“I don’t see any shooting stars,” Olivia replies, squinting upwards._ _

__“I know. I think we can make our own rules for wishing, at this point.”_ _

__“Well, then, I guess…” Olivia pretends to think about it, even though the answer lives in her very bones, in the breaths she takes, in her head when she goes to sleep and again when she wakes up._ _

__“I wish I was wanted. To be cared about, I suppose is a better way of putting it.”_ _

__“Wish granted, then,” Catherine says, rolling over at the exact same time as Olivia so their faces are only centimeters apart. “I care about you a lot, Olivia Caliban.”_ _

__Catherine’s eyes reflect the stars, blue mirrored in blue, a whole galaxy contained in her irises._ _

__Olivia’s the one who moves in first, but they’re both hesitant, because they are both fourteen and Olivia didn’t even really know girls could kiss girls, but she likes kissing this one very much._ _

__Catherine pulls away, and Olivia is so scared that she’s broken something that is impossible to fix, but Catherine is smiling, and even from this distance, even in the dark, Olivia can tell that she’s blushing._ _

__They shift ever so slightly closer to each other, and fall asleep holding hands._ _

__The next morning Olivia feels like her entire body is made of sunshine, or diamonds, or something else that’s bright and beautiful and warm in her chest._ _

__She makes eye contact with Catherine as they pack up their food and books into the bag, and the corners of Olivia’s mouth turn upward in a shy smile, a smile full of possibility and the future._ _

__The future, when all of their enemies have been defeated._ _

__Of course, their enemies are mostly metaphorical right now, skulking creatures of self-doubt and anger and fear, but Olivia’s not naïve. She knows that Miss Isabella will send out people to look for them, not because she cares but because she doesn’t want this stain on the orphanage’s record._ _

__“Let’s go, slowpoke,” Catherine laughs. “I’ll steer this time. You were a little wobbly for my taste. I almost got motion sickness.” Olivia rolls her eyes._ _

__She gets on and wraps her arms around Catherine sneakily, trying to be discreet and failing miserably. Catherine turns around and grins. “What are you trying to do there, Livvy? You’re going to distract me from my very important pedaling.”_ _

__She pushes off the ground and the bike resumes its path down the street. The sun is hot and bright overhead, and the road is strewn with gravel below, but Olivia and Catherine couldn’t care less. They are in love, the easy, uncomplicated kind of love that happens when you’re young, and they are happy._ _

__“How long until we get to a good stopping point?” Catherine says after two hours, turning around, and Olivia tries not to think about how pretty her eyes are from this close._ _

__Instead, she unfurls the map. “Well, we’re…” She squints through her glasses at the far-off road sign._ _

__“We’re going to hit a town in fourteen-ish miles. That’ll take us two or three hours, given the pace we’ve been moving.” Olivia does some quick math in her head. “And if you pedal a little faster, maybe we could even get there in one and a half.”_ _

__“I don’t think pedaling faster is an option,” Catherine pants, her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat._ _

__“Fair. Want some water?” Olivia asks, all of a sudden worried about Catherine._ _

__Catherine nods, and takes a sip of the offered water bottle._ _

__Then they’re on the move again, and soon the flat straight farmland changes into hilly forest. A thick mist hangs in the air, and Olivia has to remove her glasses and wipe condensation off of them several times._ _

__After an intervening comfortable silence, Olivia decides to talk, voicing something that’s been on her mind recently._ _

__“Do you think there’s an afterlife, Cat?” she asks during a downhill portion, quiet under the green trees._ _

__“What?” Catherine replies, struggling to hear Olivia over the wind rushing through her ears._ _

__“An afterlife! Do you think there is one? Or do you think it’s just a void?” she shouts, louder this time._ _

__It’s uphill again, and already Olivia misses the wind against her face._ _

__“I think there’s nothing. Once we die, we die,” Catherine grunts as she pushes the bike forward, repeating something she’s heard many times before._ _

__“There must be _something,_ though, surely,” Olivia says, getting off the seat and helping Catherine push, trying not to sound childish. “Maybe not heaven, maybe not pearly gates and angel choir, but something.”_ _

__“Maybe,” Catherine says halfheartedly, and they reach the top of the hill. It’s very, very steep, almost a straight drop down._ _

__Olivia looks at Catherine._ _

__Catherine looks at Olivia._ _

__And the two girls leap onto the bicycle and give it the slightest push forward, feeling the yank of gravity become an irreversible rush._ _

__Olivia opens her mouth and crows with joy, no sound except the wind in her ears and the thump-thumping of her heart._ _

__The gold-green trees are blurring together, and Olivia can’t even see, but all of a sudden she becomes keenly aware that there’s a bottom of this hill, and that will probably lead to a sharp decrease in speed._ _

__Catherine seems to realize it at the same time she does, because she begins braking, but then the hill ends much faster than expected and they go flying off the bike._ _

__Luckily, they only have a few scratches when they stand up, and they both start laughing with the rush of adrenaline._ _

__But when they stop, they hear a low rumbling under the rustle of the trees and the buzz of the cicadas._ _

__It sounds like-_ _

__“Car engines,” Catherine says, and she looks around in a panic. “They’re close. We have to go. _Now._ ”_ _

__“But what if-”_ _

__“What if nothing, Livvy. We have to _go._ ”_ _

__Catherine grabs her hand and practically pulls her onto the bike, and she’s off and pedaling almost immediately._ _

__Olivia notices that they left a loaf of bread behind, but then she sees an Optimistic Orphanage black-windowed car start the climb of the hill, and she turns back around, fear beginning to writhe in her stomach like an angry beast._ _

__“Cat, go faster,” she mutters urgently, gripping Catherine’s arm. “Catherine, they’re right behind us, they’re close.”_ _

__“I know, Olivia,” Catherine says, her voice low and deadly calm as they reach the incline of another hill and begin speeding downward. Raw terror is paralyzing any other thoughts in Olivia’s head but getoutgetoutgetout. There’s nowhere to run. She looks forward, over Catherine’s shoulder, and another black car waits at the end of the road._ _

__They’re trapped._ _

__Catherine realizes it at the same time she does. Olivia knows it’s futile to run, so she tries to brake, but Catherine blocks her hand._ _

__“No. I’m not going back there, Livvy. I’m never going back there again. Never.” Her voice is desperate, trembling with absolute sincerity._ _

__“We have to,” Olivia says, and she pulls the handbrake._ _

__She will never forget the look of utter betrayal on Catherine’s face._ _

__The fall from before has broken more than a few things in the bike’s interlocked frame, though, and the brakes don’t work._ _

__They are hurtling down a hill with no way to stop, and Olivia sees the steady stream of traffic behind the black car._ _

__All at once, she knows they will die if they stay on the bike._ _

__“Jump! Jump, Catherine!” she shouts. “The road’s full of cars, we’ll never make it!”_ _

__“ _I can’t go back there!_ ” Catherine screams, and her beautiful blue eyes are filled with tears._ _

__Sometimes you are fourteen, and your parents left you behind at an awful orphanage when you were three instead of living with you on Evergreen Street, and maybe it’s not the orphanage itself you hate but what it represents- how you will never be loved, how you are alone forever, how nothing will erase the scar of being left behind._ _

__Even being loved by a girl in glasses doesn’t solve everything._ _

__There’s no way of knowing, of course, but maybe that’s what was going through Catherine’s head. “I love you, Olivia,” she whispered, as she pushed the girl she had kissed less than twelve hours ago off the bicycle and continued down the hill, accumulating even more speed as she moved towards the crowded street._ _

__“ _CATHERINE!_ ” Olivia shrieks after her, hoarse with love and fear and horrible, horrible understanding._ _

__Catherine doesn’t turn around._ _

__Instead, Olivia watches from ten feet away as the girl she loves maneuvers easily around the black car somehow, and swerves directly into the path of a truck in the street._ _

__Her arms are outstretched when it hits her._ _

__The adults who close their eyes that day instead of watching will describe it by putting several negative adjectives in front of the word ‘accident’, but it doesn’t matter what adjectives they use._ _

__Olivia knows that it was not an accident._ _

__She saw Catherine’s face when that black car showed up at the bottom of the hill, saw the life drain out of those blue eyes she loved so much._ _

__Catherine was already dead when the car hit her. It just took a minute or two for her body to catch up with her soul._ _

__Miss Isabella’s hold on Olivia’s arm is cutting off circulation, but Olivia doesn’t notice. She is screaming and crying and pulling against everyone and trying to follow Catherine, because she can see the body._ _

__She sees blond hair attached to a shattered skull, grayish-pink brain meat showing through the cracks. Her blue eyes are darkened with popped blood vessels._ _

__It doesn’t look like Catherine._ _

__Miss Isabella sees the corpse and stumbles backwards, and Olivia takes advantage of the loosened hold to crawl to her feet, and now she can see the scene fully._ _

__“Catherine,” she whispers, but in her mind she’s screaming. In her head, everything is burning and she is screaming just to scream because the girl she loves is dead._ _

__She turns then, and runs into the forest, leaving Miss Isabella and the big black cars and Catherine behind. She runs, feeling the branches scrape against her skin and the bruises from her fall, but there’s just a high-pitched noise in her head._ _

_I think there’s nothing. Once you die, you die._

__She comes out the other side of the thin patch of woods, and she sees a town on the horizon. She doesn’t know where she’s going, only that she has to leave._ _

__Olivia is shattered into pieces._ _

__Who can say if she’ll ever be put back together again?_ _

_I love you, Olivia._


End file.
